scripted

here is a memory yet to be:

you;

heart spilling out of hands onto keyboard keys, tongue trapped in butterfly wings and ribcage cracks, head pounding, world stopping

( 'i couldn't get over you'

'i miss you'

'i'm still here' )

me;

knuckles red and empty chest, tired feet with no one to run to, swallow the loneliness go on there's no one watching, god these bleeding palms are scarring now, there is daytime sometimes but never when i need the light, i can't even fucking write

'what am i supposed to say?'